


Diary Fragment, Year 65

by epersonae



Series: The Journal-Keeper [27]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Diary/Journal, Gen, Loneliness, POV First Person, cycle 65, no shipping in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epersonae/pseuds/epersonae
Summary: Few people alive have known such loneliness.
Relationships: The Director | Lucretia & IPRE Crew | Starblaster Crew
Series: The Journal-Keeper [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/706953
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Diary Fragment, Year 65

Ordinarily, I would be writing up all the findings of my colleagues — family, surely I can say that now — the particulars of this world and its beings, the escapades of my dear dear companions….

My pen trembles, though, and the line of ink wears thin, though not from any lack of that substance. For a month — almost two? — I have fled agents of the Stone Ones, semi-organized bandits, pathetic but still deadly scavengers, and the weather itself. And all of this alone, or nearly so; Fisher may be a sort of companion, and a welcome one, but I have not touched another being since we were first drawn into this cursed world.

I cannot fully comprehend or properly express the loneliness of this year — what is still to come — I don’t know, but I assume that the others are dead. Though sometimes I daydream that they are safe in the garden of the Stone Ones, and it is simply the terrible odds of distance and circumstance that  _ they _ have not found  _ me _ .

I don’t think I can bear it, every time I get a fragment of sleep, as my eyes close I think: this is it, here is the end, alone with the ship torn and tattered; I will die, the ship will fail, and the Hunger will claim this and everything to follow. And yet I wake: to a howling tornado of sand, a sword at my throat, the sputtering of the Bond Engine. Or sometimes, a glimpse of pale sunrise, the water of an abandoned oasis, or a small song from Fisher, who surely must be equally lonely.

And so I rise, I feed them whatever little sketch I can force from my weary mind, I feed myself whatever meagre scraps of food I can stand to eat. Thank Pan that our last stop was rich with life, and we left with larders full; thank Pan that Taako [ink smudge, unreadable]

We have food, and so I stay alive somehow, keep repairing the ship, hoping that it will be good enough for [ink smudge, unreadable]

— that it will keep me moving, holding together long enough to escape. Long enough to see

[journal entry stops here]

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, it's been a hot minute since I posted (or wrote) Balance fic, huh? And HI HAVE MY QUARANTINE FEELS. Hey Griff, about that "she was entirely alone for a whole year" thing? It's so much worse than it sounds.


End file.
